


what defines us

by mm8



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Attempted Sexual Assault, Banter, Betrayal, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Dark, Families of Choice, Foreshadowing, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Torture, Weapon X Project, Work In Progress, i'll add tags as we go on, irregular updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: What we do does not define who we are.What defines us is how well we rise after falling.AKA an AU in which Peter and Wade are in Weapon X together, meet years later, get their freak on, and become a family.(No A/B/O or mpreg *sobs* *points to the families of choice tag*)





	1. You wanna break me. Bit by bit. That's just part of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. I have this entire story outlined and work on this everyday, but it's a fair warning. Chapters will probably come slowly and not be regular. I am determined to finish this fucker, so don't fear. It will be completed and not abandoned. 
> 
> I'm modeling Peter Parker after Tom Holland's interpretation. However, I tried to leave it open enough so you can picture whoever you'd like. 
> 
> You can check out my [generic Spideypool playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/meganmoffat8/playlist/57cqvEe2XWaIoueTOoVgTE). I have two playlists for this fanfic as well. One and Two.
> 
> This is the first Spideypool story I have written and posted. Let me know how I am doing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This place was like a prison, and Wade was serving time.
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take _a lot_ of liberties with Weapon X. I figured why the fuck not cause this is fanfiction and I can do whatever the hell I want. Basically in this Weapon X is sort of run like a prison full of unwilling prisoners who get tortured almost 24/7. But not? It's not canon let's go with that.
> 
> I sort of feel bad about posting this as a WIP. However at the current time I am doing the whole I am doubting my ability to write and I feel shit about myself and this story and I should just quit now. Thought that maybe posting this and getting like a few hits and a kudo or two would cheer me up. *shrugs*
> 
> Title comes from the song I Don't Care by Apocalyptica

After Ajax kindly informed him of what kind of shitshow he was running, some asshole shoved a dark hood over Wade's head and wheeled down endless corridors to Bea Arthur knows where.

Once the cart stopped, at least four people speedily removed his restraints, lifted him off the gurney, and dropped him onto the most uncomfortable bed Wade had ever laid on. Literally, it was harder than a rock he slept on one night in Afghanistan. That was all that the merc could think of before he was manhandled out of the hospital gown they'd given him to wear only hours ago, and forced into a jumpsuit. Wade kicked and punched but these bastards easily blocked every move as if anticipated it. 

Simultaneously, a different set of assholes strapped him to the bed so he had little mobility. He could only watch the shadowed figures move hastily from beneath the black hood as they put sticky goop on over areas of his chest, sticking electrodes to his body. A pulse oximetry was clipped onto his finger and all of that was hooked up to a machine. Without warning they smeared alcohol on his forearm and stuck him with a needle for a saline drip.

A pair of small hands curled under the fabric of the hood and roughly pulled it off Wade's head. He blinked to adjust himself to the harsh florescent lights. He looked all around to see the group playing all of the medical equipment and writing things down on clipboards.

One of the orderlies, the one with plaited red hair and was working on securing all of the straps spoke directly to him. "Tomorrow begins your treatment, Mr. Wilson. Basic rundown of our rules," she droned. "You'll be tied down until further notice. Depends on how good of a boy you are. You have to earn the privilege of not being bound to this bed like all of the other fish. You'll get food once day… you're lucky. You'll get to use the restroom once a day… If you're lucky. You'll be permitted to use the exercise yard once a week… You know, if you're lucky." 

The redhead took his chin between her latex-gloved fingers and forced him to look their way. "Welcome to hell."

Wade scoffed and tried to pull away, but the orderly held his face in a tight grip. "Dramatic much?"

The redhead chuckled as she stroked his cheek lovingly. "Oh, Mr. Wilson." She lightly slapped his cheek, and left along with the rest of the orderlies without making a sound.

~~~~~~~

It turned out that Wade wasn't alone in the room. There was another bed tucked against the wall on the other side of the room and he saw a pair of feet sticking out from under the covers. In the first few hours, Wade tried to start a conversation.

"What's your name?"

"How old are you?"

"Got any pets?"

"Is Ajax his real name?"

"How about those Maple Leafs?"

Then questions soon turned darker.

"What do they do here?"

"How have they hurt you?"

"Where are we?"

"Who's in charge?"

"How is funding this?"

"Are they ever going to let me out of this bed?"

"How many others have shared this room with you?"

"What are you in here for?"

It was as if he was asking a fellow prisoner what crime they had committed in one of those shitty prison tv shows. But then, this place was like a prison. Complete with the exercise yard, ugly ass jumpsuits, and gourmet meals.

And wasn't that they were?

Prisoners.

When Wade took stock of the room it more than solidified his prison theory; or hell it reminded him of the decor of his high school. Cinder block walls painted stark white. The ceiling was something that was found in public schools. Wade counted the speckles on each tile about three times before he realized that all of the tiles were identical. The space wasn't that big. It was large enough for all the medical equipment plus two beds, but that was about it. The door was traditional iron rods from floor to ceiling. Wade noticed that there wasn't a keyhole and assumed that there must have been a keypad on the wall next to the bars that they used to get in and out. There weren't any windows either.

Actually, it all reminded him of his first apartment.

His roommate never spoke a word. Didn't make a single damn sound. It irked Wade because he was so used to sound, any fucking sound. They didn't even make a noise when they chewed their food and certainly didn't make a sound when she farted, _if_ they farted. After a while Wade figured that his roomie must be a heavy sleeper. Why else would someone blantly _ignore_ their fellow prisoner? Well,they could be deaf. Or mute. Or just plain dead. He stopped trying to talk nice, and stopped talking altogether. It was harder than it should have been, but every time he wanted to open his mouth, he'd bite his tongue. 

In the morning, two nurses took down his vituals (oh fuck were they proper nurses with degrees and shit?). Both examined his mysterious roommate before coming over to him. As he was peering down the cleavage of the busty blonde, Wade caught sight of a manilla folder on the top of the stack she'd dumped onto his thighs.

On the manilla folder tab, typed in bold, black, readable font, was _Subject  
1102-ZKE9-J3HQ_ and below the number was _Popov, Anastasiya_ in the tiniest of girly handwriting, as if her real name had been squeezed in as an afterthought.

Behind that folder, another one peeked out and the tab read: _Subject WX11-1216-RLFN, Wilson, Wade_.

As they frog-marched him out of the room, he spotted his bunky for the first time. It was a woman. Anastasya he figured. She looked a few years older than him. Raven black hair with grey streaks at her temples and rolled down past her shoulders, had a big nose, and a mole on her chin. She wore a permanent scowl; one of the best resting bitch faces Wade had ever seen. The strong smell of piss and shit wafted Wade's way and he tried not to gag. Anastasya was pale and gaunt; a few steps away from looking like a Holocaust survivor right after their concentration camp had been liberated. 

The one time he'd been granted access to the exercise yard, there were three other guys there. One was pacing around the perimeter while the other two were playing a hobo's version of cards. Hoek, Jacques, and Steve. Hoek had served in the war like Wade, Steve had been a CEO of a popular cake shop that'd had its own tv show for a while, and Jacques was French Canadian. _Of course_. It didn't matter who or what they had been on the outside. They were all equal here. All of them had been in the program for about seven months. Wade could see that hope had left their eyes. 

Ajax, or whatever the fuck his name was, came to his cell three days after Wade had been imprisoned. He ignored Wade completely, walking past his assigned bed straight to Anastasya. 

"Morning, pet," Ajax cooed as he stoked Anastasya's jaw. "Like the new medicine? I bet you do." Asshole's hand traveled down her neck and went lower. Wade heard a familiar rustle of the rough fabric of the jumpsuit. Ajax's hand moved in a circular, massaging motion. "Yeah, bet you like this. Damn you _do_. Your nipple is so fucking hard." During this whole time, Anastasya didn't move, didn't resist, and didn't make a sound.

"What do you think you are doing fuckwad?! What did do to her!?"

Ajax briefly turned his attention to Wade and gave him a shark-like grin. "I gave her a nice, healthy cocktail of medications that cause complete paralysis. Head to toe. Do you disagree with my methods, Mr. Wilson?"

Wade felt like there was a rock in his stomach. Jesus fucking the devil _Christ_! Wade thrashed against the bonds. "YOU SICK FUCK!" 

Ajax snapped his fingers and suddenly Angel appeared with a needle, and ejected whatever it was into his arm. 

"Let's count backwards," Angel soothed. "Five, four, three--"

Wade didn't know what happened after that. When he woke up, Anastasya was gone, and someone else was in her bed.

~~~~~~~

It seemed after that Wade had a revolving door of roommates.

There was an elderly lady named Dorothy. Dorothy _Gale_. Fuck her parents must have hated her. She was frail when she'd been put in Wade's room. The kind of tips-over-with-the-slightest-breeze frail. She had seven children, and fifteen grandchildren and one great-grandchild. She spent her days watching TV like the Live with Kelly, The Price is Right, The Young and the Restless, the seven o'clock news... Dorothy was itching to know how what had happened since she had been at Weapon X. 

Dorothy was a self-proclaimed Carrie Nation. She liked watching the hummingbirds fighting for drink the nectar at the feeder set up outside her kitchen window. She took her youngest grandchild to the dollar movies every couple weeks. She was obsessed with quilting, cross-stitching, knitting, crocheting _and_ sewing. She thought it was practically a crime that Wade didn't know how to sew and promised that she'd teach him how to make his own clothes.

What the fuck kind of good would that ever do? He was going to die here and Wade didn't suspect that his only regret in life was _not sewing clothes_.

(If anything, his only regret would be not leaving 'Nessa a text or some kind of message before he left. She deserved better than him.)

Besides, Dorothy had no idea who Bea Arthur was. _That_ was a fucking crime. 

She had cancer too. Lung cancer from smoking everyday since she was twelve. Wade could empathize. Cancer was cancer. 

She asked him once, just once, if he had someone who was missing him.

"No," Wade's voice was lifeless. "Not anymore."

After a full week of being in a locked in a space with literally no light and 'Achy Breaky Heart' playing on repeat, Wade was thankful to be taken back to his cell. Of course, Dorothy was gone and someone else was in the bed.

Next came Tina, whose life revolved around Harry Potter. Then it was Vincent the wildlife photographer. Kai was a complete bastard and thought that WWE was _real_ and not faked. There was Dougal the anorexic. Erin with the crooked nose. Yvette. Riley. Damien. Eamon. Zoey...

Five more people stayed with Wade. All five left in the end. If they died or transformed, Wade never knew. 

After ten more, Wade didn't bother remembering their names.

A month went by, or maybe two or three months who was counting? Corda, rat dungeon, tickle torture (scratch that kink off his list), and foot whipping (scratch that one off too).

Who knew that the military taught him to withstand so much pain? To be honest, his dad had a hand in that too.

He recalled Ajax staring down at him with that British snarl. He vaguely remembered being put onto a gurney, being rolled through the never-ending hallways. He didn't remember the gurney stopping to his room, or being put back onto his bed. He'd passed out before then.

When Wade opened his eyes, the roommate with curly sue hair was no longer in the bed across the way from him. Instead there a young kid; his eyes wide and staring at Wade.The boy, and he really was a boy, couldn't have been older than fourteen, was sitting upright with his knees tucked against his chest. He lifted his right arm and gave a shaky little wave.

"Hey."


	2. Are you wasting away in your skin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade learns his bunky's origin story.
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT.
> 
> Okay, when I said that I thought that maybe this fic would get a few hits or a kudo or two, I seriously meant it. I am really surprised at the number of hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks this has received so far. Thank you all for reading this story and fueling me to go on. I am so happy and flattered that so many are enjoying this story. I am still catching up on the comments but will finish replying to them in a day or two. 
> 
> Wow. Just wow. *squishes everyone*
> 
> I am hoping to get an every other Tuesday posting schedule, but no promises to that.
> 
> Title comes from the song Porcelain by Red Hot Chill Peppers.

Wade stared bug-eyed at his roommate. It didn't surprise him that he had a new one. He seemed to go through them like a teenage boy goes through a box of tissues. It was inevitable that curly-sue would be gone by the time he returned from the latest round of torture.

What the merc had _not_ expected was that his fellow inmate would be a goddamn _boy_. He was young; God he was young. The stereotypical hipster style with dark-hair, big round eyes behind thick rimmed nerdy glasses and an innocent face. Fuck this kid should be living a fucking ordinary life. Crushing on girls (or boys, or nonbinary. Who cared?), doing homework, being grounded for sneaking out at night.

Not that Wade had that kind of childhood, far from it. But why wasn't this boy living that life instead of being locked up here? Why the _flying fuck_ did they recruit a minor anyway? Wade had thought this was and 'adults-only' party and no way was this guy an adult. What kind of sick joke was this? 

"Hey," his roommate repeated. 

Wade gave him a hard stare. "How old are you?"

"Um, fifteen." The boy raised an eyebrow and shuffled so his back was flush against the wall. "Hello to you too."

Fifteen.

 _Fifteen_.

"Fifteen?"

"Um, yes?" The kid said as if it was a question."I-- I-- Is that bad?"

"I've never seen anyone that young here, and I've been around for a long, long, long time. They're pretty fed up with me at this point. I'm that girl who doesn't understand that he's just not that into you."

What had Wade been doing when he was that age? Oh yeah, hitchhiking across Canada and the U.S. after shooting his father in the head and lighting his house on fire to deter the cops. Living the teenage dream. 

"Fifteen?"

The boy hugged his legs tighter, placing his chin on top of his knees. "We've established that already." He introduced himself, "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. Or ULSM-QUNS-0862, if you want to be technical. What's your name or your serial number? Does everyone refer to each by their numbers?"

Wade stayed silent as he glared at the newcomer. Oh God did he even know what this place _was_? What they did to people here? Had he been fed lies like him and all of the rest?

"Why are you here?"

His bunky shrugged. "Probably the same reason you are. I'm dying and they made promises that they broke."

Wade twitched. It was a random nerve in his cheek that hadn't spasmed in years. It hurt. Not the twitch, but a heavy feeling in his chest. It shouldn't hurt. He didn't know anything about this kid besides his name and that he'd fallen into the same trap as Wade. Somehow it cut deep inside and reopened old wounds. The teen was _dying_. He was too young to worry about shit like death and mortality. Wade didn't know this _Peter Parker_. This shouldn't have been so heart wrenching.

It was like his mother all over again.

_(He needed to stop thinking of this kid by his real name. It had never gone well whenever he referred a roommate by this name. Like hell he was going to let anything happen to this one. What to do? Nickname. A nickname would do. But what? Pooh-bear? Poodles? Peanut... Oh! Pumpkin Eater! Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater. That was it. Sounded stupid as shit, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice.)_

"Blood disease."

Wade's head shot up to stare at his bunkmate. "I didn't say anything." 

"I know, but it was written all over your face." The kid gave a hint of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Rare and genetic blood disease that affects only men. Approximately 15% are carriers and 5% get it. One of those things where you aren't expected to live pass twenty-five or so. I have bad luck it seems. Parker luck. At least all of this will die with me, right?"

Wade quirked an eyebrow. "What about the rest of your family, Pumpkin Eater?" 

The teenager shook his head, seeming to ignore the nickname. "There's no one anymore. My mom and dad died when I was a kid--"

"But you are a kid--" Wade interrupted.

"Well, when I was little then. I've lived with my Uncle Ben and Aunt May forever. I never had any brothers or sisters, and they didn't have any kids of their own." The kid's face screwed up as he frowned. "Uncle Ben died six months ago. That means the only carrier left is me. I'll die soon enough and take it with me." He tugged at the strands of his dark hair and his mouth creased into a thin line. "What about you then? I told you my origin story."

Wade inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. "Fifteen."

He watched as his new roomie's face split into a wide mischievous grin. "Yes, fifteen. Are you ever going to get over that?"

"No," he deadpanned. "Never."

Instantaneously, the boy's face broke and he belted out the most cheerful laugh that Wade had ever heard. The laughter was contagious and soon Wade found himself cracking up too. Their combined laughter bounced off the cinder block walls making it sound as if there were at least four people in the cell who had gone batshit crazy. 

Once they settled down and caught their breaths, Wade heaved, "So… Blood disease?"

"Yeah," Pumpkin Eater sobered. "And I'm fifteen," he sighed as he stretched out his legs. "Yeah. It started out with being tired all of the time. No matter how much sleep I got or cutting back on caffeine. I was sleeping through classes and my grades slipped a little. Then I started losing weight cause I didn't have much of an appetite. I'd run out of breath easily, and they thought I had asthma and gave me an inhaler. My bruises and scrapes barely healed. My primary doctor said I had low iron levels so I needed to take some over the counter pills."

Pumpkin Eater smiled sadly, pulling at his hair once again. "It wasn't until after I fainted in math class for no apparent reason that the doctor really paid attention. Full metabolic panel didn't look right. Finally after like ten tests they figured it out. You're going to die and that's that." 

The kid pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Course Aunt May didn't take no for an answer. She took me to other doctors for another opinion. Took me to see specialists. Support groups, acupuncture, options for surgery. They wasted _so much money_. They tried to hide it from me, but I knew. Aunt May pulled extra shifts at the hospital. She's a nurse," Pumpkin Eater supplemented. "Uncle Ben took out another mortgage on the house to get by. Then he d-- d-- died." Pumpkin Eater sniffled, retreating back into his cocooned position. "Stupid mugging at a 711. Police never caught the guy. Security camera footage was too blurry and never saw his face. After that a guy in a suit showed up to out door out of the blue with an offer. The treatment was out of the country, but my aunt was really desperate by that point. And here I am."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Wade had stayed silent throughout his roomie's monologue. He found himself gripping the sheets of his bed and twisting them in his fists. Pumpkin Eater was too nice. Too nice to be in a place like this. "People don't really talk about their lives on the outside in detail."

Pumpkin Eater opened and closed his mouth. "I don't know. It seemed… I don't know. Natural? I know that sounds stupid."

Wade hummed in agreement. It was stupid. "Anything else you want to tell me, Pumpkin Eater?"

"Ummm," Pumpkin Eater stared upwards to the ceiling in thought. "Ummm, My favorite colors are red and blue," he responded, full of sass. "I'm a Gemini, but I don't keep track of that stuff. My birthday is June 20th. I'm from Queens. My favorite band is alt-J. Photography is my favorite hobby. I'm in college. I hate--"

"You're going to fucking _college_!?"

Pumpkin Eater flinched, still staring up at the ceiling. "Uh, yeah? Technically it's sort of a co-op program between my school and ESU. By the time I graduate high school, I'll have a dual bachelors degree in biology and chemistry. After that I… I _was_ going to get a Masters and a Doctorate. That's all over now."

Jesus fucking shit his roommate was a _genius_. A _genius_ who most likely would die in this shit hole. A genius whose dreams had been ripped away from him because of a stupid illness. It made Wade pity the kid even more. Like that, a silly thought popped into his head. Thick glasses. Young. A genius. O. M. G. "Are you Dexter in human form?! Can you talk with a German accent just to make sure?"

The kid lowered his head and set his gaze back to Wade. His face was scrunched up in confusion. "Dexter? The serial killer?"

Wade gasped dramatically. "Omelette du fromage?! What do you want woman?! Dexter's Lab for the love of Monkey! Did you not have Cartoon Network?!"

Pumpkin Eater shook his head and spoke timidly, but matter-of-factly. "We didn't have cable, only an antenna that could pick up PBS and local news."

"Good God, how did you live?! I lived--" Wade cut himself off. No, no he couldn't, wouldn't tell his kid a single damn thing about his personal life. "You had to have at least Hulu or Netflix, Pumpkin Eater. You've been deprived of all things holy."

Pumpkin Eater wrinkled his nose, frowning deeply. "Why don't you call me by my name? I told you mine. You never told me yours actually. Haven't told me _your_ story either. I'm feel like I'm talking to a wall… Sort of. Like talking to an eccentric wall."

Wade bit his lip and looked away. "I don't want to get attached." Wade knew that he shouldn't get emotionally invested in this kid. Ultimately, he lose out. He was making an extra effort not to call or refer to his one as his real name. Knowing a name just made things more personal. It made things harder when they'd eventually disappear. He could tell that this hurt Pumpkin Eater. The kid would find out his name soon enough. But if Wade told him it willingly, it made things more real and solid. Wade didn't want to hurt this kid. He'd hurt too many people already.

"P.E."

Wade glanced out of the corner of his eye to see his bunky. "Huh?"

"P.E. is better than _Pumpkin Eater_ ," the kid grit his teeth at the nickname. "P.E. sounds a little normal at least. And if you're not going to call me by my real name, I should be the one to choose what you do call me."

Wade took this in. It wasn't his roomie's name. Not even the exact initials. He could do this. "P.E.? Like gym class?"

"Yeah if you want to look at it that way."

"P.E.", he tried out the name on his tongue. It was kind of odd for a name. Not that _Pumpkin Eater_ was any better. Least P.E. wasn't belittling. Wade nodded and watched as P.E. sink onto his propped up pillows.

It was then that Wade noticed it. He should have seen it before, reconnaissance was part of his job. Goddamnit, why hadn't he picked it up? It was so fucking obvious. "Why the fuck aren't you strapped down to the bed? They do that to all noobs."

P.E. flushed dark red and wrapped his arms around his chest. "I'm not exactly a _noob_. It's the first time I've been in a room like this, but I've been in about..." he checked the screen on the monitor next to his bed. "About two months? Maybe three." 

"What?" He'd never heard of anyone not be given a cell before the torture started. Wade had met a lot of people over the years and they always, _always_ put them in a room first. Was this new procedure or something? Or were they treating P.E. different because he was young? God, two to three months. They'd tried a lot of shit on him. Wade took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What did they do to you?"

It was then that P.E. shuddered and stared down at his lap avoiding Wade's eyes. His voice was softer than it had ever been. "That's something I'd rather not talk about."

Wade nodded. He probably understood more than most. He smiled brightly as he decided to brighten up the conversation. "Do you like pancakes?"

"Huh?"

"Pancakes! Only the best food in the entire world! Well that's a complete lie. Chimichangas are the best. Tacos rock my socks too."

"Pancakes _are_ pretty good," P.E. replied a little more lively. "I don't know about chimichangas. What are they?"

Wade went on a rapid rant about how could Dexter, boy genius, not have a clue what chimichangas were, why it was the best food _ever_ , where to get the best ones in New York since obviously no one had educated P.E. on this, and good god he'd murder someone just to get a whiff of even a stale and moldy chimichanga.

It was a nice comfortable afternoon. The first one Wade had in a long time.


	3. I'm drowning in fables.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Wade has been at Weapon X for ages, and naturally it has emotionally hardened him (especially when everyone you meet eventually goes missing). He gets a new roommate, a fifteen year old boy who is dying from a rare blood disease. Wade is calling the teen 'P.E.' because, seriously, he doesn't want to get attached to someone else.
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> ~~~~~
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> Wade gets a lesson on Bobby Fischer.
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Hello everyone! RL has been more than fuckity in the past few months. I could go into detail, but we'd be here for a while. I will keep assuring you that this fic has not been abandoned. **_I am not abandoning this fic_**. This story is way too much fun and means to much to me to let it go.
> 
> There's two reasons why you're getting this update today (August 8):  
> 1) Homecoming was amazing, and ever since I saw it I knew I needed to give you guys the next chapter, and 2) It's my (29th) birthday!
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> I figured the original posting schedule was for Tuesdays, and my birthday falls on a Tuesday this year.... Basically I'm doing the Hobbit thing by giving you a gift on my birthday.
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> I had to cut a single chapter in half so I could post an update. I hope this isn't going to disappoint you after all of the waiting. Sorry if some parts are rushed. As always, if you spot errors, let me know.
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> I am not sure when the next update will be. There is other stuff I need to focus on first. I'm always working on this fic. It can't be my first priority all of the time, though.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read up to this point, commented, left kudos, bookmarked, and/or waited patiently for this update. Thank you to anyone who is following my Spotify playlists (cause how did they get so many followers???). I am _still_ beyond shocked at the response to this story. All of you are fueling this story.
> 
> Title is from the song Words are Weapons by Seether.

That evening the main course was something resembling congealed Spaghettios with a side of saltine crackers. They weren't even the premium crackers they handed out in restaurants. This was some gas station shit. Which was weird that gas station brand crackers even existed. 

They ate mostly in silence, splattered with the occasional grumble about how unappealing the food was. Wade noticed that P.E. may have complained about the food, but he sure as hell gobbled it up. Maybe it was because he was a teenager. If he remembered correctly he'd ate anything and everything when he was about P.E.'s age.

After the leggy nurse with the dyed hot pink hair collected their dinner trays, Wade wasted no time and got on the floor and begin his nightly ritual. He adjusted himself into the correct position: palms on the floor, feet apart, back straight. Wade took a deep breath then lowered himself down until his chest touched the floor. He raised himself back up with some difficulty because the front of his jumpsuit stuck to the floor. The sticky concrete put the floor of any adult movie theater to shame. This room became more gross with each roommate. There wasn't any sort of janitorial service and he surmised that none of the attendants had cleaning up bodily fluids off the floor listed in their duties. 

"Uh, that's a lot of push-ups," P.E. commented when Wade had counted thirty push-ups in his head. "I'm impressed, but that's coming from a guy who can't do a single one."

_Thirty-one._

_Thirty-two._

_Thirty-three._

_Thirty-four._

"It not an easy task," Wade stated. "It can be treacherous and life-threatening. Dozens die from push-up related accidents every year. _Dozens_ I say! I could supervise you if you want to do a modificated wall push-up. I'll even let you use the pillows as safety padding and everything."

"N-- No, no. That's fine. I don't see the point in learning anything new at this stage of my life. Thank you for the offer though."

Wade paused for a brief moment before starting push-up number forty-three. Yeah, he wasn't going to feel awful that the kid's outlook was grim since he couldn't really dispute it. He wasn't going to be sympathetic. He wasn't going to be sad. Nope. Not one bit.

"No harm to getting the hang of something like this. This might be one of the most shitty situations of all time you gotta keep going. Keep living. Plus it'll piss them off the longer you stick around. Take it from me. I'm one of their most loyal customers. No really," he said when he'd glanced over to see P.E. giving him a 'That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard' look. "If your body is stronger, you'll beat the system and last longer in here. Not being a slave is life-long goal of mine."

P.E. scoffed, "Yeah it's sort of impossible to _beat the system_ here." He took a deep breath and let out a slow exhale."What's the real reason you do push-ups?

"I have to do at least a hundred push-ups before I sleep. Two hundred is better."

"That's counter intuitive. Exercise raises your heart rate, makes you more alert--"

"And I need to do it to sleep," he snapped. "Kind of like Arya Stark… Oh my God, you have no idea who Arya is do you?" 

He looked to the side to see P.E. still pancaked against the wall with his eyes downcast (seemed to be the kid's preferred state of being). "I saw the Funko Pop at my friend's apartment. Um, yeah that's about all I know."

"Well it seems that I have to educate you. She's from Game of Thrones. And Song of Fire and Ice, but fuck reading. She's the most important character _ever_. She's a total badass. Assassin is her middle name. She sticks people with the pointy end of her needle and no that is not meant to be sexua--" Wade gasped in realization. "Shit, shit, _shit_! I'm a season behind! _Son of a bitch_!"

"Th-- Th-- That can't be too bad, can it?"

"Dexter, are you kidding me?" At this point Wade situated so he was squatting on the balls of his feet. "Game of Thrones spoilers are _deadly_. Everyone live-tweets and major newspapers publish spoilers as headlines the day after the episode aired. If you don't want to be spoiled you practically have to become a hermit. And fuck it I'm missing this season. I'm not going to know things! Important things that heavily weighs on my talking points with people. Fuck stockings!" he yelled, slamming his fists on the floor.

P.E. flinched at the outburst. "I doubt seeing spoilers will be an issue in here."

"I dunno Poindexter. There was a highly qualified nurse reading OK! while I was getting my finger and toe nails ripped out about four months ago. Sorry to break it to you, but Nick Cannon and Mariah Carey have split. I feel bad for those kids. They have horrible names already; how much can their little hearts take?"

"You sure do like to talk."

Wade ignored the comment and resumed his push-ups. "So there's no telling what magazine or newspaper they could bring with them next time. Seeing Game of Thrones spoilers could be a method of torture all of its own. God, I might never know what happens to Tyrion."

"Who's Tyrion?"

Wade shushed him. "I said too much already. I could give you a run-down of the show later. Not like there's much else to do around here."

"Okay," he replied with a lack of enthusiasm. After a few beats, his timid voice flittered from across the small room."I uh... I uh... I thought we agreed to call me _P.E._?"

"P.E., Dexter, Bobby Fischer, _Kate Middleton_. Who cares? It's all the same. It's not your real name so why does it matter?"

"Hmpf. Cause it's my _name_ ," P.E. retorted. "I can't have another one."

"Did you just quote The Crucible?"

"Uh… I don't know? I've never read it, but my English class was supposed to start on it soon. We were midway through Fences when I left."

"Well super congrats kiddo. You just quoted The Crucible. That's gotta be like…" Wade did some fake math in his head. "Like a two-hundred thousand and one to one probability. Well, to be honest it wasn't an exact quote, but pretty close though. Okay maybe not… It wasn't really close at all. It reassembled of a couple words, and when I say a couple words I really mean _a couple_ words. But the thought was there. Maybe."

They were silent for a few minutes. The only sounds were Wade's harsh grunts, the various medical equipment beeping, and the dull hum of the light above their heads.

_Fifty-nine._

_Sixty._

Wade broke his concentration for a second to speak, "You can have another name you know."

"What?"

"You can always change your name. No one is stopping you. There's not a law that says you _can't_. All Sims have to do is go to City Hall and boom! Cornelia Goth is now Cornelius Fudge Goth or something. Or if your trans! You can change your name if you're transgender. Like how Poppy Z. Brite is Billy Martin now. Or how Laverne Cox was… whatever fucking name she had at birth."

"I don't know who any of those people are," P.E. said rather defeatedly.

"Okay, okay. How about one of those weird kids who change their name for summer camp to be _cool_."

"Huh." There was a dull rhythmic drumming like fingers on a bedsheet for some seconds before abruptly ending. "I guess you're right. I hadn't thought about that."

Wade smiled to himself. 

1 - 0 to him.

_Sixty-one._

_Six--_

"So," the boy started timidly. "Can I call you whatever I want?"

"Nope. That would be disrespecting your elder."

"Ha!" His roommate exclaimed. "Hypocrite." After a few beats he added, "Are you planning on telling me _anything_ about--"

"Drop it." Wade warned. 

"But I don't--"

"I said fucking drop it!" His voice carried through the room and down the hall.

Irritated grumbles and groans echoed throughout the block, but over them all was an deep and raspy voice: "Shut the fuck up you fucking twats! I'm trying to fucking watch Dance Moms!"

Wade grunted as he picked up the pace.

_Seventy-seven._

_Seventy-eight._

Fuck this shit.

_Seventy-nine._

Wade growled in frustration as jumpsuit refused to detach from the gross floor again.

Fuck.

_Eighty._

This.

_Eighty-one._

Shit.

_Eighty-two._

And fuck Dance Moms!

From across the room, he heard some of the bedsheets rustling and the thin mattress squeak as the teen got under the covers. "Are the lights on a timer?" his roommate inquired. 

Okay then. Wade could adult-up and make peace. "Nope, they stay on day or night. I think it's another way to fuck with us. Psychological torture."

P.E. hummed. "Makes sense." He shuffled under the covers like he was adjusting to get comfortable. "Sorry."

Wade smiled slightly. "It's fine." On one level he understood why P.E. was tugging on his pant leg for any sort of information, searching for some way to relate to one another to find some solace and comfort. He had been the same when he first arrived. Wade had done enough of that. It was the same old song and dance every time. It was too exhausting to care. He was numb to it all by now. 

_One-hundred and four._

_One-hundred and five._

_One-hundred and--_

Wow he had to take a leak. That came on suddenly. He finished up another twenty push-ups before his body started threatening to have his bladder burst if he didn't go this instant. Wade stood up with ease and crossed over the farthest corner where the sorry excuse for a toilet was. It reminded him of those gross public park bathrooms. The entire toilet was constructed from metal. It was always freezing to the touch and it was one of those low-flow flushes that made Wade wish he had a gun so he could shoot whoever invented mother fucking _low-flow toilets_.

Wade didn't hear a peep come from P.E.'s side of the room as he pissed. To be honest he was expecting for the noob to freak out about having to use the bathroom out in the open. Usually people were squeamish about going to the bathroom without privacy. Although the teen's lack of a reaction shouldn't have surprised Wade. This kid wasn't exactly a newbie. He had told Wade he had been around for months after all.

Wade tucked himself back into his jumpsuit and washed his hands with the foul smelling soap. He looked over his shoulder to check on P.E. The teenager was curled up into a small ball on his side. He used his forearms as a weird pillow for his head even though he was lying on a pillow. Wade couldn't help but notice that he was still wearing those big glasses. Wade opened his mouth but quickly closed it. Why he was still wearing them? Wade deduced that it was probably for safety reasons. If P.E.'s vision could be bad without his glasses he'd be at a severe disadvantage. Plus there wasn't anywhere besides the floor to put them anyway. Wade could imagine one of the nurses scrolling in and _accidently_ stomping on them.

He wasn't at all sleepy but Wade felt like it was time to go to bed. He turned over the covers as he slipped in like he'd done hundreds of times before. His bare feet grazed the cold bars at the end of his bed. _His_ bed. That sounded terrible that he was possessive of his shit in a place like this. Wade checked the time on the monitor. 11:14PM.

Sleep evaded Wade. It wasn't uncommon, but it was annoying. Little to no sleep meant less energy to have while being tortured. Less energy meant he couldn't keep his guard up and would raise the likelihood of being transformed significantly. Wade tried all of the bullshit methods that kids are taught to go to sleep: counting sheep, muscle relaxation, and pretending to sleep. None of it worked. All he could do now was wallow in memories.

Wade didn't want to reflect about Vanessa. He'd done so much of that in the last few months. Every conversation, every inflection, every pause, every gesture, every facial expression had been analyzed over and over until they meant nothing. There wasn't anything else left to look over. 

The only thing he could think of to mull over besides this gaping hell hole was his current roommate. It just… it made Wade _sad_ , like _really_ sad. P.E. hadn't gotten a break. The world threw the book at this kid and now he was paying for his existence.

No more sad shit. That wasn't going to help him sleep. Okay all he had to do was think about something else like…. Grilled cheese. How perfectly toasted both sides of the bread would get. It'd be a golden brown and anything darker was unacceptable. The cheese! Oh God traditional American cheese would be used but personally Wade thought American cheese was the lowest of the cheeses. He'd used pretty much anything else. It was fun to experiment with the different flavors and textures. After the sandwich was safely off the pan and tore it two the cheese would be insanely gooy… Damnit now Wade was craving grilled cheese. 

The shrill cry didn't alarm Wade. He didn't so much as flinch. Tortured screams that had once haunted Wade, now it was little more than background noise.

Except this scream came from inside of his cell, and the screamer was certainly not Wade. It dawned on him that it was P.E.. Of course it was. Wade let out a frustrated sigh and flipped over on his tummy. Goddamnit. This shit was getting old. He already couldn't sleep and now _this_? Fuck a duck.

The kid kept on screaming, and, screaming, and screaming. It was so loud that it hurt Wade's ears. This wasn't the usual Oh-God-I'm-in-a-hell-hole scream. This wasn't the kind of wailing that young children did when they lost sight of their parent. 

No, the kid was screaming like he was fighting to cling to his life. It was raw, and throaty. It was like P.E. was gasping for that last bit of air in between hacking coughs full of dust. It was close to a death rattle.

Something made Wade fling back the covers and walk with quick steps across the room. He hadn't realized he had been doing it until he was at P.E.'s bedside.

His face. The kid's face was scrucnhed up in pure terror. Wade had seen that look before...

He stood a good foot away from the bed. Wade had to wake P.E. up, but he didn't know what kind of sleeper his new roommate was. Wade's best friend in middle school would punch anyone who tried to rouse him.Wade learned that the hard way. 

Wade leaned forward, and poked his shoulder. "Hey," Wade said. "Hey, wake up." He began to poke repeatedly, but with no success. Shit, maybe the teen was a heavy sleeper. Damnit, that'd be his luck. This time he put a little more force behind his prodding. "Yo k--"

P.E.'s eyes flew open and he sat right up. He was gulping for air; Wade had never seen someone hyperventilate so fast in his life.

"Hey, hey, hey." Wade surprised himself on how calm his voice sounded. "It's fine… You're here. You're here. You're here. We're in a sadistic shithole, and you moved into my room today. You're--"

P.E. whirled at him. His eyes were still wide with fear, but he seemed to be gaining some clarity of the situation. "You?" P.E. heaved between breaths.

"Yeah, it's me kid." 

P.E. abruptly ran his fingers over his brow, seeming pleased that he was still wearing his glasses. "Was I…? Did I…? Oh God, I did, didn't I?"

"That's so insightful for a genius boy like you."

Irritation flashed across the boy's dark eyes for a brief second, before reverting back to his fearful state. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed as he hid his face behind his hands. "I'm so sorry." P.E.'s voice was a bit muffled, though his words came out in a rush."I'm stupid. I'm stupid. You were asleep, and I woke you up. And now you're awake because of me. I'm sorry. You must think I'm a baby. I'm stupid. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_."

Oh God. He was apologizing for having PTSD wasn't he?

Maybe Wade cared because P.E. was so young. He was weak. The kid looked like he'd be 100 pounds soaking wet. He was frail from illness and malnutrition. Was it from his illness, or because the time he'd already spent here?

The kid wouldn't last a month. He'd be swallowed up in a black hole of all of Wade's roommates-- soon to be forgotten with no one to care that they were gone.

Wade took a deep breath, pushed himself off the teen's bed railing and crossed to his side of the room. His eyes raked over the set-up. The vital signs monitor was on wheels. The bed was on wheels.The monitor had a very, very, very long cord that was plugged into the wall. Wade nodded to himself. He could make this work.

He gave the cords to his monitor an experimental tug, and once Wade was sure everything was still connected, he began making his way to the other side of the room.

"What are you doing?" the teen asked in between sniffles.

"What's it look like? I'm moving my bed next to yours."

"You don't have to--"

"That's right, I _don't_." He left it at that as he wheeled the the bed over even though the wheels were squeaking in protest. He was pretty sure that the wheel that had been closest to the monitor stand was firmly stuck in place and made it more difficult to maneuver. He pulled and shoved until his monitor was right beside P.E.'s, and with that equipment being the only space separating their beds. "We'll have some stupid kiddy sleepover or something." 

Wade slipped under the covers for the second time that night. He laid on his back and shut his eyes. The kid was trying his best to hold back his tears. He kept letting out a single sob, hiccup, sob, then hiccup again.

Wade heaved a sigh. He stared upwards as he spoke. "I'd tell you that everything will be okay, but that would be a big fat lie. I don't think you deserve that. Everything won't be okay. I've had _a lot_ of people bunk with me, and eventually all of them didn't come back. What lies ahead is a fight for your life. You'll either die because of your blood disease or from their fucked up experiments. If you live, you'll be a slave because of what they have made you. I know you know that, but I still thought I should say it. Your outlook sucks, but you have to keep trying. You have keep moving forward or whatever Walt Disney said." He raked his fingers through his short hair. "That's it. I got nothing. I'm not good at this before the end of the game inspirational pep talk shit.'

Wade shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep. He listened to the boy's (almost) quiet sobs, until they ceased a few minutes later. The kid must have fallen asleep. Wade hadn't meant to be such a downer, but there was nothing good about this to say to P.E.. He was terrible at this comforting thing. One time Vanessa cried so hard she had trouble breathing. All Wade could do was awkwardly pat the back of her shoulder, and meekly said, "There, there. There, there. Don't be a whiny bitch." Then Vanessa slapped him, he pinned her to the bed, she scratched her long nails down his chest... one thing led to another... 

"Did you know Bobby Fischer was a horrible person?"

Wade jerked, and opened one eye to stare up at the blinding light. It took him a few seconds to recall why the teen had brought this up. "Wait what? 

"Bobby Fischer. Horrible person."

"Explain?"

"He was…" P.E. chewed on his words. "Eccentric to say the very least. His mom wasn't really around, and he blamed all of his problems on her. He was known to freak out because he was playing unofficial matches. Had a meltdown after he lost his World Championship title. He was the only one to blame for losing it since he refused to compete. He had one of those Cold War things in the 70s. You know where America and the USSR competed against each other, and everyone thought it was a metaphor. Bobby Fischer threw a big tantrum in match with a Russian chess player name Skassy after he claimed that he lost because of the television cameras. Then he forfeited the second match because he refused to show up. You know cause of all the media spotlight. Skassy wanted to play so they ended up meeting Bobby demands. He ended up being like, Bobby Fischer's best friend, so there's that."

It was only after spewing all of those facts that P.E. took a brief pause. "Um, he said that America had it coming with September 11th. He got into this doomsday cult in the 60s. He was anti-semitic, and a Holocaust denier to complete the package. Someone reported that Bobby Fischer actually _idolized_ Hitler." P.E. blew out a long breath. "Yeah. He was bit of a crazy guy."

"But there's a kids movie about--"

"Searching for Bobby Fischer? It's not about him. He's not even in it. It's about Joshua… Watson? Oh, what was it? Watts? Watkins…? Oh! It was Waitzkin! So Joshua Waitzkin was a child chess prodigy. He was thought to be the _next_ Bobby Fischer, or at least his dad thought so. His dad wrote a book, and they made the book into film. It's kind of pointless really cause Waitzkin _wasn't_ the next Bobby Fischer at all. His progress stalled after a while, and he doesn't compete in chess anymore. He writes books and teaches martial arts instead."

"What the fuck? This is one of the great injustices of bad chess movies! Okay to be perfectly honest, I've never saw it, and thought it was about some kid getting abducted, who also happened to like chess. Egg on my face. How do you know all this?"

"Last year my history teacher got lazy, and she assigned us an open project to write a paper on any historical figure. I picked, you know--"

"Bobby Fischer," they said in unison.

"Only to find out he was a total jerk."

Wade questioned, "Was?"

"He died in 2008 in Iceland. There was a legal battle over his estate, and everything."

Wade sat up on his elbows. "What the fuck was even a part of the estate? Old chess sets and a People's Temple brochure?"

"Ummm, well he had over 2 million dollars in chess winnings."

" _What_? You get money from playing chess? Like real money, not Monopoly currency?"

"There was no Monopoly play money transaction whatsoever."

"How the fuck did he get 2 million dollars?"

"Chess winnings," P.E. replied like _duh_.

"What do you mean chess winnings?"

"Like how whoever wins Wimbledon gets like… I dunno 20 million pounds? I think it's more than that, but it's a ballpark estimate."

"You get _money_ for playing _chess_?"

"Just like you can with other major sports."

"Chess is _not_ a major sport."

"It sort of is," P.E. wavered slightly. "The International Olympic Committee recognizes it as a sport."

"Yeah, so is ping-pong," Wade fired back.

There was a brief pause, and then an exhale. "Anyway, so after he died, his wife said she should have his money. His alleged illegitimate daughter wanted it. Some of his nephews said that the money was theirs. Then the US government wanted it in lieu of back taxes that Bobby Fischer had never paid. It was a whole mess. His wife got it all in the end. Go her."

"Did you notice how you can't call him just Bobby or Fischer? His name has to be squished together all of the time or else it sounds weird?"

"Huh. I never thought of that." He was silent for a few beats. "I didn't like it when you compared me to him," P.E. confessed softly.

"Well you've showed me the light, and I sincerely apologize for my ways."

"Thank you." P.E. turned on his side, facing his back toward Wade. "Goodnight whatever your name is."

Wade smiled to himself. "Goodnight that-who-is-not-at-all-like-that-douche-bag-chess-player-who-shall-not-be-named."

The kid harrumphed, "Yeah, yeah." Not too long after that, P.E.'s breathing even out, and he was out like a light.

Wade still couldn't sleep.


	4. This race is a prophecy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade runs and runs.
> 
>   
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise? You didn't expect an update did you?
> 
> Good news everyone! _They leave their goddamn room!_
> 
>  
> 
> Yes four chapters in and the setting finally changes. Didn't expect that either?
> 
>  **HUGE WARNING**! This is where the attempted sexual assault  & implied/referenced rape/non-con tags come in.
> 
> I'm posting this from my cell phone. If something is wonky I'll fix it ASAP.
> 
> As always, you guys are amazing.
> 
> Title comes from the song Run Boy Run by Woodkid.

For two days neither of them were snatched away to be tortured. Two blissful days. He and P.E. talked about everything and nothing. Wade learned that P.E.'s eyesight was so bad that he could barely see six inches from his face. P.E. hated mayo because he didn't like the texture. He was afraid of spiders. He made Star Wars references off the cuff and always paused afterwards to see if Wade got it or not. 

Wade gave a little bits and pieces of himself up as well. He didn't know why. He knew he shouldn't. However talking to the kid was so easy and natural. If they weren't here in an utter shit situation, Wade knew for a fact that he wouldn't have given P.E. the time of day. Unless he'd come to Wade for a job. 

Wade told P.E. that he was Canadian. That he was a polyglot and was fluent in several languages. That he admired P.E. for his dedication to education since he was a high school dropout. 

He even told P.E. about 'Nessa. That was trust in itself. It was vague, and he didn't say her name or any glaring details. Just that he'd had a fiancee who he loved. Then life went tits up and their relationship ended. It not much to go by, but still.

They joked about how the food was shit, how the bed sheets were the roughest fabric either of them had ever felt. How their cell reminded them _both_ of a school decor. They argued over what was the best board game (P.E. said Monopoly, Wade said Mouse Trap). Which was better: The Beatles or The Rolling Stones? Coke or Pepsi? Cherry Garcia or Half Baked?

P.E. shocked Wade when he learned he'd never been out of New York City until all of this shit went down. Wade surprised P.E. when he learned that he'd even though Wade had been to NYC, he hadn't seen any of the major tourist sights.

Wade gave him an episode by episode recap of the shows Adventure Time, Bob's Burgers and of course, Game of Thrones. P.E. attempted to explain the basics of chaos theory and string theory, but it made no damn sense to him.

Wade never told P.E. his last name. He never told him about his profession. He never said or that he was dying from cancer. He had to keep some things to himself. 

It was as if all of this was normal. Just two guys _talking_. Two strangers testing out the waters that could lead up to a friendship. It was so casual and stress-free that Wade forgot for a millisecond where he was. He had a strong feeling that the millisecond of normalcy was going to bite him in ass sooner or later.

But after two days of being alone, a group of nurses took Wade from their cell, and strapped him onto one of the gurneys that he was so familiar with. At this point, he didn't fight when they came to drag him away. He saved his energy for surviving whatever shit Ajax had cooked up.

Wade spared a backwards glance at P.E. as they closed to door and wheeled him down the hall. The look on his face. It was more than crestfallen, or fear. It was…

Before he could put a name to it, P.E. was out of sight.

They didn't waste any time when they got to their destination. He was manhandled to his feet and pushed onto a treadmill (and not one of those fun interactive ones; it was a mundane one with no bells and whistles). In a flurry, he was surrounded by orderlies slapping on the goop on his skin over vital places, wires attached to yet another monitor, a blood pressure cuff on his right arm. He turned his head in all directions to find that there were cameras _everywhere_ focusing on different angles of him. One of the nurses walked in front of him, tapping on their iPad, looking back and forth between it and Wade. He could see from his vantage point that they had the video feed of him on their tablet. 

This was new.

They made him run. One of the nurses who gave off an air of importance instructed that they would make Wade run exactly 30 miles, a little over the length of a marathon, and that he had to do it in under 2 hours.

It was too easy for him. Well it wasn't too hard. He had to run faster than his usual speed, but he had something to prove to these dickwads. He wanted to prove that he was better than them. He needed to prove that they weren't going to get their way so easy. He needed to prove to himself that he was going to make it.

Once he'd finished with plenty of time to spare, and a horde of disappointed nurses took off all of the monitoring stuff, and wheeled him back to his cell, chatting about some mundane shit as they did so. They dropped him on his bed unceremoniously. Wade's aching muscles were not arguing about laying down even if it was on a bed more uncomfortable than the Flintstones'.

"Hey, kid."

Silence.

"Hey."

Silence. 

"P.E., what--" He raised himself up on his elbows to see over the rest of the room, and saw that he was alone. P.E. was gone. Wade sighed as he laid back down. It wasn't jarring. The teen had been good company though. 

Wade stayed in his bed with no one to talk to. He stared at the monitor to his right and watched as the heart line went up and down, and beeped every few seconds. He hated silence. It was silence without words that got him the most. If no one was talking then his mind tended to ruminate and go around and round until he was a mess. Talking to himself was far better than that. 

About after three hours two male nurses unlocked the door and marched him outside. Oh well. He thought he'd been lucky to get a break at all. There had been some days when they didn't let him rest. He'd be tortured for hours, and once they were frustrated enough that he wasn't triggered, the nurses would drag him into a different room and continue on with a brand new method. Typical.

Instead, the men took him to the exercise yard. Wade rolled his eyes as one of the guards who stood by the door to the yard gave him a pat-down. What the hell was he going to smuggle in? Some sleeping pills in a balloon hidden in his vagina?! Damnit.

Wade lifted an eyebrow as heard moans. From multiple people. Ew gross. Of course they had him come by when people were screwing. Once the nurses were gone, the two guards shoved him inside and locked the door behind him.

The exercise yard wasn't outdoors like in a lot of prisons. This wasn't a typical prison either. The yard was pretty small, maybe triple the size of a cell. There wasn't really anything to do in the yard, however everyone including Wade felt relief when they were there. It wasn't freedom, but it was the closest thing any of them could get. It didn't smell like bleach, or blood, or shit. Instead there were different scents like sweat, and cum, and for some odd reason there was always a hint of vanilla.

"Who'd have thought there'd be such a young piece of ass would here?"

Wade raised his head and took a step back when he saw the scene in front of him. A group of gross fucks were harassing… P.E.. Four guys who he'd never seen before were all leering at the teenager. One was scowling from a far corner, seeming to detest what was happening, but not enough to do anything about it. Two Hispanics were only a few feet away from where P.E. was. Both men were palming their clothed erections.

The last guy had curly ginger hair and an unruly pornstache. He was bigger than the others by far. He must have been at least 6'7. He had enough muscle on him to make Arnold Schwarzenegger in his bodybuilding hay day jealous. The ginger had P.E. pinned to the wall and blocked any sort of means of escape.

Wade stood stiffly, frozen like a deer in headlights. Was he really witnessing what he thought he was? Please God say he wasn't...

"I haven't had _anything_ in two months. That can make any man desperate. Think that my luck is about to change. You're such a pretty one. Bet you're be a natural at sucking cock. Pink lips all stretched out, and looking up at me with those your doe eyes. No, no. Don't cry." He carelessly wiped away the tears from P.E.'s cheeks. It was more like he was trying to poke the kid's eyes out instead of being kind.

" _Fuuuuck_. How can you be so pretty? My friends always said I have a kink for the young ones. Not saying they were wrong or anything," the man chuckled. "You'll want all of us to fuck you by the end. You'll be begging for it like the little slut you are. Ain't that right Jack? We're _all_ gonna fuck 'im."

The man in the corner blew out a puff of air and turned his face to the wall, effectively ignoring the scene.

The tall man thumbed P.E.'s cheek. The kid whimpered in pain as he tried to pull away from the rough caress, but his harasser tightened his grip and forced P.E. to look at him. With his other hand he groped the teen's crotch without any regard.

Wade's cellmate choked out a sob. "Please," he hiccuped. "Please stop."

"Stop? We're just getting started. I'm gonna fuck that little mouth of yours, and watch your gag around my dick. Be a good cocksucker and get on--"

Wade didn't realize what he was doing until it was happening. He'd been near the gate one moment, the next he was on the floor sitting on the assaulter's chest, his knees on either side of his head. Wade struck him. Again, and again, and again. Blood painted his fists, splattered onto his face and chest like a Pollock masterpiece. He was pretty sure he'd broken the douchebag's nose since it was bruised and crooked. At first the ginger-haired man struggled, kneeing Wade in the back, but that only made him more enraged.

Wade was almost certain he could hear shouts egging him on to _go for the kill_ , and _bash the pedophile's brains in_! It was like he was under water, and couldn't quite understand the words. They were muffled, and sounded far away.

He thought: _Keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going, keep going, motherfucker **keep going**!_

All of the anger that had built up in his chest for the past year escaped in a flood of fury that was solely directed at this man he didn't know… This man who had been sexually assaulting a young teenager.

Wade was a monster, oh God was he a monster. But he knew what was right, what was wrong, and about that grey area in-between. Any angle you looked at it, rape and raping a _child_ was number 1 in the 'this shit is inexcusable' column. 

He put more force into his punches. Getting out all of the emotional anguish that Wade sworn he'd grown numb to. 

Wade hit his right eye because he was never going to see Vanessa again.

Wade hit his left eye because he felt so fucking _dumb_ that he left the love of his life, thinking that a super secret treatment was his only hope of getting better.

Wade hit his broken nose because he hurt his cellmate.

Wade hit both cheeks because once wasn't enough for the shit he put the teenager through.

Wade hit his throat because he wanted Francis dead for _everything_.

He leaned back, huffing as he tried to catch his breath. Wade started down at the man's face. He wasn't moving. Was wasn't sure if he was even breathing. His entire face was raw and drenched in red. There weren't any features that stood out… it was just… a mess. He spat at the face. No reaction. Huh. Wade checked his knuckles, coated in blood just like the face. Shit, was there skin between his fingers?

Suddenly he was thrown off the body like he weighed nothing, bracing himself with his palms skidding against the cement floor. 

The guards who had been motionless before now bent down and dragged ginger guy out of the yard. One of them strode over and clapped Wade's shoulder. "Nice work. Knew you had it in ya." He (Wade noticed that his name tag read Nobles) resembled a shark as he grinned at Wade, and followed his colleges.

They knew. The guards knew what was going on way before Wade had been brought in. And they didn't do anything to stop it. They would have let P.E. be raped, and not bat an eyelash at the crime. Wade reached out grab Nobles, but a tug on middle of his jumpsuit pulled him back.

Wade stared downwards toward P.E.. And stare _down_ was right. His cellmate was a few inches shorter than he was. He seemed even more innocent and fragile than when he'd been curled up in bed. They had been side by side before, of course. It wasn't like they were confined to their beds. He was just...

The kid pushed his glasses up the bridge of nose, shivering while shuffling his feet, averting Wade's eyes. "Please," he begged. "Don't make it worse than it already is."

Wade flared his nostrils, and stared at P.E. in disbelief. "Are you serious?" His didn't mean to sound so harsh, but what the fuck? "He was going to _rape_ you!"

He still wasn't looking at Wade. "It isn't anything that I don't deserve," P.E. whispered.

"What the hell does--"

The heavy door to the yard swing open and hit the wall with a loud bang; Wade didn't miss that the teenager flinched. A guard that Wade had seen a few times, but never really took notice of peaked his head around the corner. He scanned the group until his gaze settled on the pair. "Parker. Wilson. Time's up."

The teen released his grip on Wade's jumpsuit like the fabric burned his skin. 

Wade growled, balling up his fists wanting to clock the guy for no particular reason. He breathed in through his nostrils and exhaled. After about five breaths he cast his gaze to his cellmate. P.E. staring back at him slack-jawed. 

Huh?

Wade sent him a quizzical look. He was trying to piece together what had the kid so flabbergasted. He opened his mouth to ask, but quickly shut it when he realized…

 _Oh_.

No one else had so much as blinked when the guard called out their names. _Their_ names. 

Now P.E. knew.

Well shit.

"Hey!"

Wade turned to see one of the Hispanics take a step forward, chin raised and chest puffed out. 

"Is he your _bitch_?" The guy tilted his head toward P.E. Asshole wore a scowl that he probably thought was menacing. It made him look like an actor failing at the part of the thug.

The kid cringed and stuck behind Wade's athletic build. He did his best to block the Hispanics view of his cellmate. They'd done enough of that already.

"If that means I'm _protecting_ him from Lolita sick fucks like _all of you_ , then fine. He's my _bitch_ in a strictly platonic way. Anyone have a problem?" Wade took a step forward, and the so-called thug backed away until he hit the wall. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Gay moment's over fellas."

Next thing he knew, Wade was shoved out of the yard, handcuffed, and was on the other end of a leash being led away. He'd heard a distressed noise, turned around to see his cellmate being taken in the opposite direction. 

Fear ruled his eyes.

__________

He was hooked up to the treadmill again. A dozen eyes watch his every step, every muscle flex, every drop of sweat. It's all recorded again.

They made Wade run a longer distance than before, but with a shorter time. He made it by the skin if his teeth.

Wade was given a sip, the tiniest sip of water, before they started up the treadmill, ordering him to run yet again. 

When they bored of him, a couple of orderlies yanked the wires off his body that had been stuck to him with goop with a few jerky tugs. Wade hissed as the probes tore off bits of skin as they were forcibly pulled off.  
He let the nurses, or the guards, or whoever they were lead him through winding corridors with brick walls. Each turn seemed to get more dizzy, and every step was heavier than the last.

 _Was this it?_ he asked himself. _Was this the end?_

__________

His eyes were sticky when he tried to open them. He ran his tongue around the front of his teeth. Wade seemed to be having difficulty producing saliva.

There were voices. Hushed, but still loud enough for Wade to hear.

"-- it isn't safe then." A female voice that sounded oddly familiar spoke.

"When then? It's gotta be done before he finds out." That was P.E. Wade was pretty sure about that.

'I know what they have planned for him. For you. You need to wait it out another week."

"A week? It's annoying enough as it is to be in here. "

"I know Peter, I know. After next week, you'll be done, and can go back home. It's--"

Wade groaned, subtly announcing his presence. He clawed at the the wall behind him. Rough. Bumpy. Ridges. Brick.

The murmuring had stopped and the clack of high heels sped past him by the time Wade opened his eyes. The nurse with the hot pink hair.

"Hey."

Wade let his head fall to the side. P.E. was there. Sitting on the concrete floor, his wrist changed to the wall. His small wrist had an ugly purple bruise, and flakes of dried blood. The bruises ran down the length of his arm.

"It's nothing," P.E. brushed off casually. "Really it is."

"Like hell it is." Wade found himself alert all of a sudden. "You're sick. You told me that--"

"This isn't the worst I've had it. Trust--"

Wade cut him off short, "Why were you talking to that nurse?" 

P.E. shrugged one shoulder. "She's okay. She's nice."

Wade didn't believe him. He'd been here for ages. None of these sacks of shit was _nice_.

Could his roommate be lying?

"What did you mean back there?" Wade asked. "What did you mean that--"

"I don't want to talk about it." The teenager's voice was level, but it had a hint of a warning behind the words.

"This is _serious_ ," Wade stressed.

"I don't want to talk about it!

Tension filled the air.

"Thank you,' whispered the tiniest voice. "For what happened."

Wade smiled to himself. "No need to thank me."

"Do you know how to play blindfold chess?"

Wade spluttered, "What the hell is that? Are you kidding? I don't know how to play normal chess let alone whatever shit you're talking about."

"It's like mental chess, I guess? It's when you play without looking at the board. Wanna try?"

"Only if you agree that the next game we play is my choice and consists of speaking normally, but with only one syllable words… and thirty of them have to be curse words."

"Deal."

Wade smiled to himself. "You sure do like chess don't you kid?"

"I guess?"

As his roommate began to ramble on about chess jargon, it occurred to Wade that P.E. hadn't said 'Wilson' this whole time. The kid totally could have, but didn't. Why?

Wade thought he saw Angel from the corner of his eye, and tried not to think too hard on it.

__________

That night he woke up to see a shadowed figure looming over him. Wade was groggy and it was difficult to think. Was he back in a cell? This sure as hell didn't feel like the brick wall he had been leaning against to sleep...

He hissed when there was a sharp pinch as something penetrated his skin. A needle? A rubber band was pulled off his upper arm with a snap. Wade blinked and shut his eyes.

It was lucid dream most likely.

"Shit." It was a woman's voice with a Boston accent. That wasn't Ajax. It wasn't Angel. It was 5000% not P.E. because that nerd didn't curse.

"I think it's all in him. It should be." This was a different person. They had very nasally Brooklyn accent. "Might be a couple drops left in the vial. The first few injections are crazy strong anyway. Couple drops won't mess things up."

Oh…

They'd put something inside of him.

"What??" He'd wanted that to sound even the tiniest bit threatening, but Wade was fairly certain it came out as incoherent words disguised as a yawn. He was still sleepy. _Was_ he dreaming? He had to be. What time was it? Was he dead, and this was an odd sort of hell? Oh God what if he'd been in a coma for years and one of the women talking was that whistling bitch with an eye patch!?

Suddenly the needle was pulled out and a bandage stuck over his skin. Wade let out another big yawn, and fell back to sleep.

In the morning, Wade woke up with one of the worst headaches he'd ever had in his life. It was worse than the time he'd made a bet with a Russian on who could drink a whole bottle of vodka the fastest. The whiteness of the florescent lights hurt his eyes. There was a faint pounding in his head. It reminded him of a quiet drum roll that would be heard at a symphony. Fuck was the cancer in his brain getting worse? It wasn't like the "doctors" monitored it as far as he knew. Their treatment was a good healthy dose of attempted murder. It wasn't like Wade _wasn't_ going to die from his cancer, but at least so far it'd all stayed at bay.

He quickly realized that he wasn't chained to a wall anymore, but tucked into his bed. They'd moved him during the night. Why? Wade sat up, surveying the room, yet there was no sign of his roommate.

Wade remembered his dream, and turned his attention to the inside of his elbow of his left arm. There was a very faint red bruise and the sign of healed over wound. He ran his thumb over it and sticky adhesive rolled over his skin. Wade looked about until he found what he was searching for wedged between the folds of his bed sheets.

A ball of cotton with tape on one side.

"The fuck?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're like Wade and wondering what the hell Peter meant by he deserved it... Sorry ~~not sorry~~ but that will be revealed way, way, _way_ in the future.
> 
> Oh! FYI, I am not quite sure when the next chapter will be out. It's a hard one. It's actually the germ of the idea to write this story.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers, means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day. Seriously though, whenever I get an email that I have received kudos or comments on my work, it instantly brings a smile to my face.
> 
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